Arresting Monotony
by ramblingss
Summary: Surely murderers don't wear designer heels and skirt suits?
1. 1

Fluorescent lights always seemed so bright, painfully bright Emma thought. They stung in your retinas and burned green in your vision. They were too much, too revealing like they could show everything about you, so intense and yet without passion, no colour; only the stark white of reality.

Yes, Emma thought, that's what fluorescent lights were: the picture of reality, blinding and uncomfortable. There were no shadows in reality. Everything comes back to haunt you eventually.

Emma was tired of fluorescent lights, but shops were full of them and she didn't have anywhere else to escape to.

This Walmart was the 56th shop she'd been into that day, or maybe 57th, she couldn't remember. She was bored; God knows she was bored, the mind numbing, endless aisles of stuff she didn't want were uninteresting and depressing. Especially when you couldn't afford them. But she was use to that, she wasn't here to shop and she hadn't gone into the other 56 shops to buy anything either. In truth the never ending rows of food or clothes or just plain stuff helped to soothe her mind, it was boring but it was monotonous and the thing about monotony is that it's predictable. Predictability is good because it meant the unexpected never was that, unexpected. If she knew what could happen then she had some form of control. Her control usually ended in running , but it was control all the same. So Emma wondered the aisles of Walmart aimlessly. Lost in her own hellish monotony.

But that was about to change.

Ten yards in front of Emma, stood by the checkout, was a woman. A woman who would change everything. Or maybe it wasn't the woman so much as the two men about to walk into Walmart, right up to the woman and do something unpredictable. They were the catalyst for the reaction that would restart Emma Swan's monotonous life.

Meticulous. That was the first word in Emma's head when she saw the woman ahead of her. Everything about her screamed at perfection: her perfectly coiffed dark hair, her perfectly fitted grey skirt suit and the perfectly designer red high heels. Even her very skin lacked a single blemish, Emma could see this in the smooth flesh of her calves, tanned and expertly toned. After a moment of continued appreciation, Emma began to mull over what the hell a woman like that was doing in a store like Walmart. Surely she wasn't shopping? But apparently she was, although the telltale tap of manicured nails on the counter mirrored in the clack of her heel on the white linoleum suggested that maybe she was used to a higher standard. Emma wasn't sure and she didn't care. People watching was another of habits, but she never let herself ponder too much, thinking too much about others always led her back to her own abomination of a life. But unfortunately, this woman wasn't just about to walk out of her life, at least not figuratively because it was at that moment Emma Swan witnessed a moment that changed a whole lot.

The woman was about to pick up her plastic carrier of shopping, so obnoxiously out of character with her outfit, and leave, when she was approached by two men. Emma frowned. Surely not. Maybe they just know her. And know her they did but certainly not in the way one wishes to be acquainted with men like these.

"Regina Mills" the slightly larger of the two said "you are under arrest for the murder of Henry Edward Mills. You have the right to remain silent but anything you say, can and will be used against you in court of law."

Regina turned as if to walk away, but it was too late. The second man was already cuffing her wrists in silver handcuffs that reflected the lights above.

Emma stared shellshocked. She knew she didn't know this woman, literally not a single thing. You can be a murderer and wear a skirt suit. But it felt so wrong. A feeling that only grew when she finally saw the woman's face. Regina's face.

It was beautiful. There was no other appropriate word Emma felt. Full lips painted deep red, high arching cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Nothing was undefined or indefinite, her eyebrows a perfect arch and her nose straight and small. However, there was an exception to the rule, where here face shouted meticulous control, her eyes were in turmoil.

The dark brown, almost black, irises were alight with a mix of emotions: fear, horror, embarrassment even and perhaps most distressing of all, anger. Thick black rage. Not at her arrest or the accusations but the utter helplessness and injustice of her predicament. Emma didn't know how she knew that, hell she didn't, but something told her that this was wrong, she had always been a good gage on the reliability of people and she felt something here. Something wasn't right, but there wasn't a damn thing for her to do but stare I helplessly as Regina Mills was marched away, cuffed hands behind her back and heels still clacking on the white linoleum.


	2. 2

**A/N: So, this update is like super short because I honestly have no idea what I'm writing for a number of reasons:**

 **1 - I wrote the first chapter on the bus coming home from college after the first paragraph about fluorescent lights struck me in the supermarket.**

 **2 - I'm British and have very little clue about the American Legal System (currently researching)**

 **3 - It's nearly Christmas (woop - for those who celebrate that sorta shenigans)**

 **So yah updates will probs be erratic and crappy! But anyways all reviews are muchos appreciated (even if their hateful bcos if you're feel so passionately about this 2 chapter (so far) story than woo)**

 **Also sorry** **about any mistakes - I'm proper shitty at editing!**

Regina Mills was in fact quite a big deal. Emma discovered this fact the day after she witnessed her sudden and intriguing arrest: papers across New York were screaming the news.

The news that one of the highest profile criminal lawyers in the Tri-state area was now convicted of murder. The murder of her own father. Emma couldn't escape the beautiful face of Regina Mills anywhere, it was plastered across the pages of every news publication she saw.

From the moment of the arrest something changed in Emma. It was like a hot poison coursing through her blood. It spread through her veins, right to the tips of her fingers. For, from the second those hand cuffs had clicked shut something had clicked in Emma's brain. A spark of feeling; like a long lost friend finally finding its way home, Emma was feeling something again. The endless stream of fluorescent lights and mind numbing aisles could no longer satiate her. For the first time in months Emma Swan had an interest in something besides forgettting.

For the third night in a row, amongst the suffocating black guilt in her dreams she caught sight of dark brown eyes. Chocolate eyes filled with fear and anger. They twisted away from her and tried to step forwards but her feet weren't there, she wasn't there. With a swimming sense of nausea Emma was slammed back into reality.

Blinking sleep filled eyes she looked at the clock: 2:03am. She frowned, she could generally sleep through the night now. But then the reason for her sudden departure from sleep became apparent as a dark wave of sickness washed through her body. She bolted to the bathroom and threw up the meagre contents of her stomach. The acidic burn of bile made her eyes water. Her stomach heaved and her head swam, she hated being sick. It made her feel vulnerable, like her body was too easy to overcome. She didn't want to be weak, she couldn't be. Leaning her head against the wall she sank into an restless stupor.

There were seven different cracks in the ceiling. They stemmed from a larger one running from the back right hand corner until half away across the ceiling above the shower. The cracks hadn't been there when Emma first moved in, but here they were now, edging their way across the white, faded grey paint. Emma knew it was ridiculous but she felt it was her influence that brought about the cracks. She broke things, she always had done, for she was broken herself. Cracked right down the middle with one tenuous string holding her together. It seemed only fitting that she instigate others to crack around her. In truth the cracks were caused by the people in the apartment above screwing too hard, but Emma preferred her own version. It made her life seem poetic, a metaphor for some greater event, rather than the shattered potential it really was.

At least she wasn't under arrest for the murder of her own father, was her final thought before drifting into an uneasy dream.


	3. 3

A/N: Okay, so, urm there are gonna be some time hops but I'll title them so yah. Otherwise I hope y'all enjoy. Any mistakes are my own - both editing and stuff about laws and crap!

 **Day** **of** **Arrest**

Regina Mills stood facing her reflection. Her eyes boring into the mirrored glass, willing it to show someone else, someone that wasn't her. Anyone would do because she couldn't do it anymore, she hated herself in that moment, more potently than ever before.

She heard the door to the restroom open behind her and just like that the mask slipped back into place. The cool mask of indifference she wore like armour. She gave a plastic smile to the older lady washing her hands beside her, inside her self loathing reared its head. She powdered her nose, doing her best to cover the redness underneath before grabbing her bag and heading out of the bathroom.

Back in the restaurant her mask hid her the roiling hatred well.

'Sorry Mother,' she murmured 'there was a queue.'

However, the soft smile didn't quite seem to reach those deep brown eyes; swirling in the depths was a multitude of emotion that was only building, ready to tumble. To collapse at any moment.

 **One Week After** **Arrest**

Emma shouldn't be doing this. It was a bad idea, just, really bad. But no matter how hard she tried her legs were carrying her, inevitably, towards the NYPD main building. Her limbs seemed to move adjacently to her mind which screamed at her to run and yet she was still heading for the police station. Disregarding the thing she was about to do the fact she was purposely going anywhere near the police should have been a glaring factor that something was wrong. But Emma was beginning to doubt whether this sense of wrongness was about her or the woman she suddenly seemed so intent to see. For that's what she was doing: going to see Regina Mills. A woman she had never talked to, not even met, who was for all intensive purposes a murderer. Wait, no Emma thought. She's not a murderer. It's innocent until proven guilty and she damn well wanted to believe that.

It had now been a whole week since the occurrence and still Emma couldn't let it go. It was those eyes, those rich brown eyes, filled with so much. They lingered behind her eyelids and swirled into her dreams, each time more real and inviting than the last. They tugged Emma like a magnet toward them until she was lost, falling through eons of rippling brown until at last she resurfaced and each time she did her resolve weakened just a little. Her resolve to not check out this weird sense of unease she seemed to be swimming in since the arrest. By now all resolve was gone, although still denying what she was doing, she now determinedly marched toward whatever lay in the tall and imposing building ahead.

Emma did her best to ignore the prickling at the back of neck and the sudden rush of worry when an officer looked her way, as she shut the door to the precinct. Everything felt much more real, outside she could lull herself into an idealised bubble where nothing was more powerful than her, but inside she diminished to nothing but a speck among one million other specks. She couldn't help but be hyper aware of all activity; the tap of a pen on the side, a loud peeling cough, the articulated click of a boot heel and everything else seemed to pound within her skull sending ripples right down to her finger tips. She sucked in a large breath, this was it, she was going to do it. Placing one foot forward she walked toward the desk. She was unaware that this very step would place her on a long, tumultuous road, of which, there was no going back.

'Uh, excuse me,' the woman sat at the desk looked up, her expression disinterested at best 'Would it be possible to speak to Regina Mills, she was uh arrested last week?' Emma winced at herself, it sounded so callous put like that.

'She was let out on bail three days ago,' the woman said in a monotone.

'Oh, right, well okay, well..' And Emma trailed off, she stepped back from the desk and was about to walk away when.

'Why do you need to speak to Ms Mills? May I ask,' a lilting voice said.

It came from behind and she turned on the spot to look at the newcomer. He was a small man with eyes as dark as coal and an impish smile. Dressed impeccably in a black, no doubt designer suit, and a deep blue shirt he radiated wealth. Not only wealth but power. Emma could feel it, it seemed to roll of him, not only did he have control he knew exactly how to use it. She swallowed before she came out with the only thing buzzing around her brain.

'Because I was with her. I was with Regina Mills the night her father was murdered.'

What the actual fuck have you done Swan.


End file.
